The Irregulars : Summer Break
by Kerowyn
Summary: Just an ordinary London punk rock band, with ordinary college students trying to pay the rent. Ordinary students named Holmes, Watson, and Moriarty. A car theft ring is robbing London blind, and only Holmes and Watson can stop them.
1. Author's Note

I'm baAAck! Bwa ha ha ha! Thou shalt never defeat me! :: gets smacked by ronin :: Ahem, as I was saying. I bring you yet another episode of the Adventures of the Irregulars. School's out for the summer and our heroes are plunged into a mystery. Just to let you know how much of a loser I am; this was written for Summer Break 2002. Marvel at my mighty writer's block.   
  
Dedicated to:   
  
Ronin: my dear beta reader who smacks me when I stop making sense. She's a busy woman.  
  
Fowl-Star aka LeperMessiah (vanquisher of SUVs):   
  
Snowwolf  
  
Anneliese  
  
HouAreYouToday  
  
And all the other people who regularly read my fanfics. Thou art the bomb.   
  
Incidentally, for all of you who are hanging on the edge of your seat waiting for a sequel to "A Hard Day's Night" ::looks around:: okay, that would be nobody. ;) I'm working on it. Promise. That's about all the space I can take up with the Author's Note. I'd like to take a moment to gently nudge you in the direction of my other fics. Thank You.  
  
And just because I felt like it, some quotes.  
  
"I'm tired of all this nonsense about beauty being only skin deep. That's deep enough. What do you want, an adorable pancreas?" – Jean Kerr  
  
My car is its own anti-theft device. – Mr. Schacht  
  
"As you journey through life take a minute every now and then to give a thought for the other fellow. He could be plotting something." – Hagar the Horrible  
  
"Death and life and the written word that binds them. The hand of bone and sinew and flesh achieves its immortality in taking up a pen. The hand on a page wields greater power than the fleshly hand ever could in life." –Laurie R. King  
  
"When wolves are silent, only the moon howls." - George Carlin  
  
.•´¨`•»¦«• Kerowyn •»¦«•´¨`•. 


	2. In Which I Do Not Have A Hangover

Chapter One  
  
In Which I Do Not Have A Hangover  
  
Ahh, summer. The sweetest time of the year. That feeling you get when the final bell rings on the final day at the end of the final class. That, my friends, is the feeling of true freedom. You don't have to do anything for anyone if you don't feel like it. No more school, no more early mornings or study-induced insomnia. That feeling lasts about the two minutes it takes you to realize you need a summer job.   
  
Allow me to introduce myself, I am Solei Watson, drum player for the band The Irregulars, college student (pre-med), and detective extraordinaire. Our bass player is Alexander Holmes, one of my bestest friends in the whole wide world. Lorelei Moriarty (lead singer), Kevin Lesrad (lead guitar), and James Mortimer (acoustic and electric guitar) round out the ranks of the Irregulars. It used to be just the four of us before Lorelei's uncle put out a hit on her to collect the inheritance and she was shot in the arm, and we had to recruit Kevin to play guitar.   
  
Anyway, we're all pretty close, what with being in the same band and all, so Lorelei graciously allowed me to crash at her mansion this summer, coincidentally allowing me free room and board. I have the basement all to myself, which is depressingly bigger than my last apartment.   
  
I was awakened at the ungodly hour of 11 a.m. by Alex Holmes pounding on the basement door.   
  
"Wake up Watson!" He yelled through the door.  
  
"No! Go away!"   
  
"Solei Watson, I won't leave until you open the door."  
  
I grumbled to myself and rolled out of bed to open the door.  
  
"I've got a lead in that case." Holmes said. I pried open my eyes to look at him. Holmes didn't look like he'd gotten much sleep, since he was still wearing his clothes from the concert last night.   
  
"What we? I don't remember anything about a case." Normally I would be interested, but right now that part of my brain was still asleep.  
  
"Maybe that's because you were drunk." Holmes offered.  
  
"I wasn't drunk." I protested.  
  
"You were in exuberant high spirits. I'll meet you out front in ten minutes." And off he went.  
  
Grumbling about life in general I changed into something less rumpled. Lei was probably still out cold upstairs, but the wonderful housekeeper Mildred had put on a pot of coffee. I poured myself a tankard and went outside to find Holmes sitting impatiently in the driveway. Not feeling the least bit sorry I climbed in the van.  
  
"Now," I said after a few gulps of coffee cleared the fog from my brain. "What is this case you've been going on about?"  
  
Holmes sighed and shook his head. "I can't believe you don't remember. If you hadn't been flirting with that singer from Stone Glory…"  
  
I cut him off. "I was talking, not flirting. Why are you so grouchy? I just got up, what's your excuse."  
  
"I didn't go to sleep." He sighed. "Sorry. It was that case from work, remember? The car theft ring?"  
  
"Oh, yeah." Work was an internship Holmes had landed at Scotland Yard. The car theft ring was the case he'd been working on all summer. Technically, interns weren't supposed to do much outside of the station, but those same contacts that had helped him land the job in the first place also allowed him a bit more freedom.  
  
"We think that the profits are funding a larger organization." Holmes explained as we sat in traffic. "Cars reported missing turn up in China, and cars stolen in China wind up here. A smaller group would just resell or chop up the cars for parts. We need to find the organization behind this before we arrest the car thieves."  
  
"So?"  
  
"So, we're going undercover."  
  
"Thanks for telling me."   
  
"You're welcome."  
  
I thought about this for a minute. "Scotland Yard wouldn't let an intern, much less a college student go undercover, no matter how many connections he had. You're doing this on your own." I accused. He simply shrugged.  
  
"It'll be easy."  
  
"Until we get shot."  
  
Holmes parked outside of Scotland Yard before responding. "If you don't want to go undercover I understand. But I need someone who knows the whole story, just in case… Just in case."  
  
"Just in case they try and throw you in jail?" I offered.  
  
Holmes ignored me. "I want you to see the case file."  
  
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Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints? Make your voice heard.  
  
.•´¨`•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨`•. 


	3. Recruitment

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Chapter Two  
  
Recruitment   
  
"Morning Sherlock." The desk sergeant greeted Holmes as we walked in. He chuckled at his own joke and Holmes forced a smile.  
  
"Sherlock?"  
  
"Shut up." I contented myself with a snigger. The offices on the first level were a maze of cubicles and chairs. Holmes led the way through the chaos and up the stairs to a corridor lined by proper offices with doors.   
  
"Here." He said holding open the door of one. "The records keeper doesn't look too kindly on civilians walking through his domain."  
  
Holmes disappeared down another hallway and I examined the tiny room. It was the office of Inspector Hargrave. A few degrees hung on the back wall along with a Union Jack in the corner. Papers were piled six inches deep on the desk. A plastic plant perched atop the inbox. A messenger bag slung in the corner indicated that the Inspector was out of the office at the moment.  
  
The door swung open as I went around the desk to examine the college degrees. "Holmes, I…" I turned to face, not Holmes, but a rather harried woman.  
  
"Who are you and what are you doing in my office?" Inspector Hargrave demanded.  
  
"Watson." I answered helpfully.   
  
"Are you the drummer?" She asked shrewdly. I nodded.  
  
"Ah." The blond woman sat down behind her desk. "I guess you would call me Holmes' mentor."  
  
"My condolences."  
  
She chuckled. "He does have a tendency to stick his nose in where it doesn't belong."  
  
This time I laughed. The door opened again and Holmes froze on the threshold. He looked rather like a man who has come home to find his wife and his mistress chatting over a cup of tea.  
  
"What brings you in on a weekend, Holmes?" Hargrave asked, pretending not to notice the shock on his face.  
  
"Er. The car theft ring. I got an idea and I wanted to look at the file again." Holmes said carefully.   
  
"And you brought your friend just for fun." Hargrave added, looking through another file. "You are aware that I will have to disavow all knowledge of you two."  
  
"Er, yes quite." Holmes agreed, looking relieved. "C'mon Watson. They have a reading room downstairs."  
  
We left the good Inspector sniggering over her morning hot beverage and went down to the reading room. Reading closet might have been a better word. A table and chair took up most of the space, with just enough left over to open the door.  
  
"Here." Holmes handed me the file. It was rather thin for what Holmes implied to be a major investigation.   
  
"This it?" I asked, sitting cross-legged on the desk.  
  
"It's just the summary. All the evidence is in a warehouse somewhere." Holmes put his feet on the desk and leaned back in the chair.  
  
I scanned the first page, which basically said there was evidence for an organized car theft ring. A group of about a dozen people (estimate based on number of cars stolen) seemed to be responsible for about two hundred stolen cars. All the cars were taken out of parking structures or large parking lots during the dusk hours. A packet of papers listed of all the cars believed to be stolen by the gang. Not one was newer than a '98 and almost all were Hondas or Nissans.   
  
"I can see why they think there is a pattern." I said absently. "Why a dozen people?" I asked. That deduction had Holmes name written all over it.  
  
"On a random night, at locations all across the London Metropolitan area, exactly five Hondas and Nissans are stolen. The pattern had been the same for about two months. It took a while before someone connected the dots." Holmes shook his head at police bureaucracy.   
  
"Anyway, that's at least five people. One theft was witnessed by a man who says he saw two men get into the stolen car and drive off. That equals ten. They probably have one person at a central location to receive the cars. A dozen is accurate, yet vague, estimate." Holmes shrugged.  
  
"And the fact that they are all old Hondas and Nissans means there is some good organization behind it. If they were stealing brand new Mercedes, it would get the police's attention pretty quickly." I mused.   
  
"The cars are cheap enough for the owners to be content with an insurance cheque yet retain enough resale value to be worth the effort. If you get enough of them." Holmes added. "Very intelligent."  
  
"So let me guess this little scheme of yours." I leaned against the wall and thought for a moment. I consider myself a pretty good judge of people, and while Holmes was more difficult that most to pin down, he was also a friend.   
  
"You are going to get one of your mysterious contacts in the underworld to introduce us to the new gang on the block. After we impress them with our carjacking skills they take us to their leader and we take them down from the inside."  
  
"More or less." Holmes chuckled. "So you're in."  
  
I realized that I had been speaking in the plural. Oh well, this summer was becoming boring anyway.  
  
"I'm in." Holmes grinned at me. I knew that look. The game was afoot.  
  
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Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints? Make your voice heard.  
  
.•´¨`•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨`•. 


	4. Six Steps To?

A/N: lorekeeper- my fav line too. i wrote this story just so i could use that line =)  
  
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Chapter Three  
  
Six Steps to…?  
  
Of course it was not as simple as it sounded. One didn't simply walk up to a gang of car thieves and say "Hey guys, can I play?"  
  
Holmes had been cultivating contacts in London's less desirable regions every since his first case in high school. He wouldn't tell me what that case was though. By now he knew enough people, in so many different lines of 'work', that he could contact any major criminal in London if he wanted to. It was rather like playing 'Six Steps to Kevin Bacon.'  
  
Our go-between with the car thieves was a small squirrelly man who insisted on being called 'John'. John met us in a bar overlooking the Thames. We took a seat in a corner booth and waved away the waitress' offer of food. Three pints of dark liquid were delivered to our table.   
  
After glancing over his shoulder for men in trench coats with earpieces, John spoke. "Hello Alex."   
  
I looked to Holmes in surprise. He hated his first name about as much as I hated mine. Holmes didn't wince as he usually did. He simply nodded. "This is Anne."   
  
Oh well, at least he used my middle name. John muttered something I took to be a greeting.  
  
"We would like to get in contact with the people operating a car theft ring." Holmes got straight to the point.   
  
"Funny thing that." John glanced over his shoulder again. "They are looking for new members. Seems one of theirs got hurt in a bar fight."  
  
"What do you know?"  
  
Another glance around. "They call themselves…well, it's something Chinese but it means 'Tigers'. I hear they're shipping stolen cars to China and the other way around to prevent identification. There are rumors that the funds are going to a crime syndicate, but no one knows which one."  
  
"I want to meet them. Tell them you may have found a couple of replacements for their man."  
  
John was so shocked he forgot to look around before he spoke. "You? I don't know…"  
  
"Yes. We can handle ourselves, but we need an introduction. You can just say you heard about us from an associate and you're acting as the go-between. In exchange for a small fee of course."  
  
It wasn't even a lie. Holmes and John settled the when and where and John disappeared into the night, leaving behind an empty glass. Before the waitress came back I dumped half of my untasted beer into his glass. It wouldn't do order a drink and then not drink any of it.  
  
"That's a bit of a coincidence." I pointed out. "They are looking for a man just as we are looking for a job."  
  
"Yeah. We'll have to make sure there really is a wounded colleague. Nothing we can do about that now." Holmes finished his beer and stood. "Come Watson. We have to turn you into an experienced car thief."  
  
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Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints? Make your voice heard.  
  
.•´¨`•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨`•. 


	5. The Van

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Chapter Four  
  
The Van  
  
Behind every good punk band, lies a beat up van. The Irregulars' van had entered life as a simple delivery truck, then been driven into a ditch, smashed into a light pole, had the paint stripped off and poorly reapplied, and had suffered through three transmission replacements. And that was all before we bought it.   
  
We had salvaged the paint by redoing it in the traditional spray paint fashion, including our name plastered across the back. Nothing much could be done about the numerous dents in the body, or the four bullet holes in the side (a recent acquisition) but The Irregulars van bore these scars proudly. We called her 'the old battle ax'.  
  
Now the van was parked in Lorelei's driveway, serving as visual aid for my crash course in car theft.  
  
"You slide the coat hanger in like this, and once you feel it catch, yank it back up. You have to do it hard or else the hanger will just bend. You try." Holmes handed the wire coat hanger to me. I got it on the second try.  
  
"Good. Now, unless you've managed to steal the keys, you need to hot wire the car. The wires should be here." I watched and memorized as Holmes worked mechanical magic on the van.   
  
"There. I won't cross the wires today. You have to replace the wires once you're done, so it doesn't look like the car's been stolen." Holmes finished, crawling out from the space under the steering column.  
  
I couldn't help myself. I started giggling. Holmes looked at me as if I'd lost my mind. "Where the hell did you learn to do all that?"  
  
Holmes actually looked embarrassed. "Automotive Basics. The professor almost never came out of his office, so we just amused ourselves. I actually think I learned more in that class that way."   
  
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~  
  
That afternoon Holmes took me to the mall. Alex Holmes and Solei Watson wouldn't be going to meet with car thieves, Joshua and Katrina would be.   
  
Joshua was a far cry from Holmes' tidy self. Holmes could make a T-shirt look semi-formal. Joshua was a street kid, with spiky dark hair and matching spiky collar. He slouched rather than walked and looked at the world with hardened, cynical eyes.  
  
I decided that Katrina would be a fashionable thief. Katrina wore no less than three bracelets, a necklace and earrings. She wore makeup and clothes from the latest fashion magazines. She would walk with self-conscious grace, like a model on a runway. In short, Katrina bore little resemblance to Solei Watson.   
  
Holmes almost never spoke about his past or family, unless he was asked a direct question. I never longed to ask about his past more than during that shopping spree, when he charged a hundred pounds worth of clothes and jewelry without even blinking.   
  
But there was a more pressing task at hand. Only two days after we met John, Holmes received word that the 'Tigers' wanted to meet us. Tonight. At Tower Bridge of all places.  
  
We had just finished band practice, when Holmes' cell rang. He walked off in search of better reception while the rest of us chatted about gigs past and future. Kevin and James were just headed out the door when Holmes came back.   
  
"Watson. John called. You need to be ready by tonight." Holmes reached into his backpack. "You should do your hair." He said tossing me a small box of hair dye. I sighed. We had already argued over this.   
  
My hair was a medium length sandy brown/blond. I liked it like that. I didn't want to change it. But, as Holmes had so annoyingly pointed out, Katrina wouldn't have an indeterminate hair color. She would be a blond. Holmes had already dyed his hair black. His hair was fairly dark already, but the unnatural shade of black helped enhance the illusion of defiant street kid.   
  
I took me a whole hour to dress, do my hair and makeup and adjust my jewelry artfully enough to suit Katrina. I stared in the mirror at the new woman there. Oh sure, you could still see Watson if you were looking for her, but she was hard to find. I sighed and rubbed my aching arms. "How do people do this everyday?" I asked the mirror.   
  
Joshua was sprawled across the couch when I emerged. His double-take at my outfit was reward enough for the hour spent wrestling with my hair. "You do look loverley, Katrina." Holmes' eyes sparkled with amusement.   
  
"Thank you Joshua. I wish I could return the compliment." Joshua wore baggy khakis and a battered camouflage jacket, both of which had seen hard days since they'd last been washed. The equally battered backpack was all that remained of Holmes.   
  
"Shall we?"  
  
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Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints? Make your voice heard.  
  
.•´¨`•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨`•. 


	6. Meet The Gang

Chapter Five  
  
Meet The Gang  
  
We parked the van a few blocks away from the Tower Bridge and made our way over on foot. I wished several times that Katrina was the sort of person who favored comfortable shoes.  
  
John was standing next to a mailbox, slowly eating an apple. His shoulder kept twitching as if he was trying very hard not to look over his shoulder. The Tower Bridge stopped giving tours in the afternoon, so by now (7:30) the car park was fairly empty. John still managed not to notice us until we were halfway across the lot, and he didn't recognize us until we approached him.  
  
"Joshua and Katrina." Holmes reminded the small man firmly.   
  
John nodded. "Follow me." He strode off down the street, throwing the half eaten apple in a trash can. Holmes and I followed a few yards behind. I tried not to shudder at how obviously suspicious the man was, head twitching in every direction, searching for watchers.  
  
"How does he manage to not get caught?" I whispered Holmes. "For that matter, why does anyone trust him?"  
  
"He always acts paranoid, even when he's not doing anything illegal." Holmes shook his head every so slightly. "It's the best disguise ever thought up. People just assume he's overly paranoid."  
  
Paranoid John led for a couple blocks, almost back to where we had parked the van. My feet were screaming in the brand new shoes, and the nerves were beginning to set in. When John disappeared into a doorway, I took a deep breath, hardened my resolve, and followed Holmes in.   
  
The building had obviously seen better days. The damp smell of mildew hung in the air, penetrating and weakening the wood. The stairs creaked horribly at every movement. The buildings seemed deserted, but for the skittering of vermin. Some sleeping bags lay in the six apartments upstairs, left there by London's homeless community.   
  
Only one door was still on its hinges. It was closed. John knocked, though anyone in there would have been warned of our arrival by the creaky stairs. The door creaked open on its own to reveal an empty room. All that was missing was a ghost. Never mind, there was one of those too.  
  
The head of a thin and immensely pale boy peeked around the corner. "Are you coming in?" He asked irritably.   
  
We went in. The room held three others, the apparent brains of the operation. There was a long moment of silence as we all appraised each other. Aside from the ghostly boy, there were two blond twentish women who were almost, but not quite, identical twins. The fourth was a young man of Oriental descent who wore a muscle shirt to display the tattoos that covered almost every square inch of skin.  
  
"So, you are John's idea of a replacement for Shorty." One of the women finally spoke.   
  
"I'm Joshua. This is Katrina." I flashed a smile fit for a photo spread.   
  
The women exchanged a look, silently communicating. The man with the tattoos spoke up. "You ever stolen a car before?" He asked looking pointedly at my recently manicured nails.   
  
I decided a true car thief would bristle at the challenge, so I did. "I've crossed my share of wires, hon." The words came out in a scarlet drawl. I hadn't known until this moment that Katrina would be from Alabama, but it seemed to fit her well.  
  
It was the pale kid's turn to speak. "You ever work with an organized group?" He paused ever so slightly before the word 'group.'  
  
"We've worked mostly on our own, until now." Holmes replied evenly.  
  
"Any criminal record?" This from the other woman.  
  
"No arrests."   
  
The four exchanged a look. A silent consensus was reached. "All right. You're in. But let me lay out the ground rules." One of the women spoke.  
  
"Number one: Don't steal the flashiest car in the lot. Hondas are worth just as much."  
  
"Number two: You report to us. Don't forget it."  
  
"Number three: We split the profits evenly at the end of the month."  
  
"Number four: You are the temps. Once Shorty gets his arm back, you're gone. Unless you prove that you're not a liability."  
  
"Are you able to live with that?" The woman asked, giving us a look that said we damn well oughta be.  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Sure."  
  
"Good. I'm Sharon, this is Karen." I repressed a groan. There should be a law against making twins' names rhyme. "This here is Ink." The man with the tattoos nodded. "And he's Ghost." The pale kid smiled faintly, well aware of the irony.  
  
Handshakes were exchanged all around. Sharon and Karen were having one of those silent communication moments. One shrugged, the other nodded.   
  
"Are you busy tonight?" One (Sharon?) asked rhetorically.  
  
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Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints? Make your voice heard.  
  
.•´¨`•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨`•. 


	7. Grand Theft Auto Ain’t Just A Video Game

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Chapter Six  
  
Grand Theft Auto Ain't Just A Video Game  
  
Somehow I thought that I would feel guilty. Nope. There's a quote somewhere in Conan Doyle's works about it being a short step from detective to criminal. For a person to catch thief, you must first understand the thief's motives and reasoning. And from there it is a very short step to the Dark Side. Join me and together we shall rule the galaxy as father and son. Luke, I am your father. Noooo!!!! Ahem, moving on.  
  
It was certainly fun to be running around on the other side of law and order. 'Course Holmes and I had done a few semi-illegal things in the course of our investigations, but that was different. This was a full blown felony, and we would be seriously dead if we got caught. I still found it hard to be apprehensive.  
  
We had been circling the parking lot in front of the supermarket for a good twenty minutes before we saw a likely mark. A thirtysomething man screeched and skidded his shiny red Accord into a parking space. He was well-dressed and nearly ran us over when he parked, so I didn't feel too guilty.   
  
"Ladies first." Ghost was with us, evaluating every move we made. It was curiously like an oral quiz in Spanish class. He handed me a more professional version of Holmes' coat hanger. I rarely lock my own car, mainly because if someone did steal it I would make a profit on the insurance. So, without thinking, I tried the door latch. The guy had left his car unlocked.   
  
I looked up at Holmes and Ghost, who were just as startled as I. Holmes had one of those looks on his face, worried, annoyed, and meaningful all at once. In a flash I realized that a pro wouldn't have tried the door for fear of a car alarm. But what kind of detective would I be if I couldn't think on my feet?  
  
"I saw that he hadn't locked the door. Why look more suspicious then we have to?" I drawled sweetly. Ghost seemed impressed by this line of reasoning. Holmes' look morphed into something of a "why me Lord?" expression. Hot wiring the car was a matter of moments. In less than a minute, I had boosted my first car.  
  
"Er, where exactly are we going?" Holmes asked from the back seat.   
  
"Good question." Ghost replied.   
  
"What's the answer?" I prompted.  
  
"Make a right up here. You'll see." Ghost was enjoying being Mr. Mysterioso. Right led onto a highway, which in turn led out of London. We were just passing through Surrey when I started to get a bit frustrated. Ghost steadfastly refused to explain where we were going.  
  
I pulled into a gas station and parked. "Now you look here. You may be used to doin' thing like this, but I prefer to know where y'all are taking me. Now you either tell me where we're goin' or I'm going home."  
  
Unsurprisingly, Ghost was amused rather than angry. All of this had the vibe of a test, and hopefully we had just passed.  
  
"Southampton. We ship the cars overseas from there."  
  
"Where?" I asked casually.  
  
"Asia. India. Something like that." Ghost shrugged. He clearly didn't care, as long as his paycheck came on time.  
  
Satisfied that I was not driving to the ends of the earth, I pulled back out onto the motorway. Southampton made sense. They had to be shipping the cars out somehow; and though located on the River Thames, London is not a good seaport. Most of London's shipping traffic comes out of Plymouth or Southampton, and Southampton was much closer to London. I want to talk to Holmes about this, but he had no doubt already deduced that, and several other things besides.  
  
Ghost directed me to warehouse (of course) near the docks, where we parked the Accord next to his brother Civics and Nissans and the odd Geo. Most of the rest of the gang was already there, including Sharon and Karen, Ink, and the infamous Shorty, an incredibly tall man with his arm in a sling. Sharon told us everyone else's names, and I promptly forgot them all. I can remember the name of every single bone in the human body, but I can't remember a person's name. Don't ask why, I'm just stupid like that.  
  
"This is Joshua and Katrina." "Joshua" grunted something along the lines of hello.  
  
"Hi y'all." I beamed, delighting in my accent. True to Holmes' estimate, there were exactly twelve people (not including us) in the Tigers.  
  
The introductions were interrupted by the arrival of the last member of the group and their Civic. There was a general gravitation toward the upstairs office. This seemed to be the nightly tradition, so Holmes and I followed.  
  
The former office had been converted a hangout suitable for car thieves. There weren't any chairs, but several mattresses and a futon provided seating. The desk was too big to get out the door, so they'd left it, and perched a television and mini-fridge on top. Beers were retrieved from the fridge and distributed to the gang. Someone turned the TV to Cartoon Network. They all looked like a bunch of college students after finals.  
  
I chatted with Sharon and another girl, while Holmes tried to talk to Shorty. Shorty had downed three beers in three minutes, and they clearly weren't his first of the night.   
  
"Damn cops!" I jumped at Shorty's two word tirade. The yell was followed by the empty beer car flying through the air. The rest of the gang ignored this outburst. Holmes picked up the can and threw away in what seemed to be a trash bin.  
  
I tried to sip carefully at mine. I'm not usually much of drinker (Holmes' comments about hangovers aside) especially with such low quality beer. Most of the others had no qualms about drinking heartily, which explained all the mattresses. They needed somewhere to pass out at the end of the night.  
  
The party ran down quickly after the "South Park" marathon. Ghost drove us back to the Tower Bridge.  
  
"Hey Josh, here." He tossed Holmes a cell phone. "When that rings, meet us at the Covent Garden Tube Station Try not to be late."   
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints? Make your voice heard.  
  
.•´¨`•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨`•. 


	8. Dreams

Estriel - i have fans?! :: dies of shock then comes back to life, a la Buffy :: my dear Alexander Holmes is based off a friend of a friend, Stan the Croatian model. dark hair, dark eyes, really tall, not overly muscled and an eletric smile. please excuse me while i wipe the drool from my keyboard.  
  
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Chapter Seven  
  
Dreams  
  
Something awakened me. I rolled over in the back of the van and tried to forget about it. No such luck.   
  
"C'mon Watson, wake up." I steadfastly refused to acknowledge this.   
  
"I know you're awake." No he doesn't. He's just bluffing.   
  
"Don't make me carry you inside. I'll tell Lei you got drunk off your ass." He wouldn't dare. Someone began persistently shaking my shoulder. Damn him. I sighed and sat up.  
  
"You're a terrible bluffer."   
  
"I'm too tired to bluff." Around this time, I actually opened my eyes. The dim blue dusk was just struggling valiantly over the horizon. The sky was a bright blue, but the world was still dark. Holmes was sitting awfully close.  
  
We just kinda looked at each other for awhile. I realized that I'd never really studied his features. I mean I knew he had dark eyes and dark hair, but I'd never really looked before. He seemed to be realizing the same thing.  
  
His hand was still on my shoulder and he moved it down to my waist. I reached over and pulled him close, running my hands through his dark hair. We kissed in the blue dawn…  
  
*ring* My alarm went off, overjoyed to have interrupted at such a crucial moment. I punched the pillow a couple of times in frustration, then threw it at the still-buzzing alarm clock. Why me?  
  
I decided that coffee would cure all ills and dragged myself upstairs in search of a cup. Interesting dreams and a chronic lack of sleep dulled my reaction times, so by the time I realized there were familiar voices in the kitchen; I was already standing on the threshold.   
  
  
  
"Good morning, dearie. Have fun last night?" Lorelei greeted me. Holmes was sitting across the table from her and they were both nursing steaming cups of tea. Since I was still thinking about the dream, her question caught me seriously off guard.  
  
"Umm…"  
  
"Oh knock it off, Lei. You're not going to scare an answer out of Watson that way."  
  
"Hmph. I think I have a right to know. Forty percent of my band is breaking into the van with coat hangers and staying out till all hours of the night."   
  
Relieved that Lei had not suddenly turned psychic, I put on a pot of coffee. No one else in the house drank coffee; crazy Brits.   
  
"Incidentally, what are you still doing here?" I asked Holmes. I was still trying to figure which parts of last night I had dreamed and which were real.  
  
"Why drive home when there are seven perfectly good couches right here?"   
  
"He scared the crap out of Mildred when she found him in the den." Lei confided in me. "C'mon you can tell me. Is it a case?" Lei and Holmes argued for a bit longer, then Holmes sneakily segued into talk of college.   
  
It was very satisfying to sit around the island in Lei's gigantic kitchen, sipping tea/coffee and just talking for a while. It's the little things the make up life etc. etc.  
  
Holmes cell phone rang, startling us both. The Tigers couldn't be going out on another expedition tonight, could they? But Holmes took out his other cell phone.  
  
"Hel…" The caller interrupted Holmes. Loudly. I could hear it from across the island. Holmes frowned at the phone for precisely ten seconds then hung up.  
  
"I have to go into work. C'mon Watson."  
  
"I don't work there; why should I suffer?"  
  
"Hargrave's precise words were, 'Get your ass in here and bring that drummer of yours with you.'"  
  
Why me?   
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints? Make your voice heard.  
  
.•´¨`•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨`•. 


	9. Out Of The Frying Pan

estriel- welcome back from Ibiza, please don't die. thank you.  
  
snowwolf- those free standing counters/tables in the middle of really classy kitchens are called islands. least that's what i calls 'em.  
  
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Chapter Eight   
  
Out of the Frying Pan…  
  
Inspector Hargrave was one of those people with the ability to instantly analyze two separate instances and find the connection between them. It was what made her such an excellent cop. So when the news came in that five cars had been stolen last night, she immediately linked this with our visit to the station and called in Holmes, so that she could glare at the two of us from behind her desk.  
  
"You show up to look at the file and three days later our car thieves are back in business. You're up to something and I can't prove a thing." She sat back in her chair and sighed. "Any other intern would have been fired a month ago."  
  
"Lucky me." Holmes shrugged. "Look we both know that it is only a matter of time before the press hears of this. We can bring them down in a matter of weeks, if not days."  
  
I wish he hadn't used the plural. If Hargrave was peeved at Holmes working outside of the law, she was downright pissed at me, a "civilian" coming along for the ride.  
  
Hargrave considered us for a moment. If she threw the book at us, she would probably get in trouble for letting her intern run wild. If she let us continue, it would seem like it was her idea all along, she would solve the case, and we wouldn't be prosecuted. Hargrave decided to go with expediency.  
  
"You will keep me informed at all times."  
  
"Yes ma'am."  
  
"What have you learned so far?" Holmes recited most of the information we had gained last night, omitting the fact that a member of the gang was injured. I didn't react to that, mainly because by the time I realize he hadn't said anything, he was finishing his tale.  
  
"Good. It was a stupid risk to take, Holmes, Watson." She paused, suddenly realizing the irony. I often wondered if this would keep happening if we were grocery clerks or something. Hargrave swallowed her chuckles.  
  
"It was a stupid risk, but damned if it didn't get results." We decided to take this as a dismissal, and made ourselves scarce before she could change her mind.   
  
At the bottom of the stairs I turned right to head back outside and realized Holmes was no longer walking beside me.   
  
"Watson." Holmes had made a left. I shrugged and followed him back into the recesses of the station. All the doors were numbered instead of labeled, and every single one had a keypad lock. Holmes paused in front of one and knocked. Nothing. Holmes knocked a bit harder, and this time the door was answered by an older man in a lab coat. He reminded me of the doorkeeper in the "Wizard of Oz."  
  
"Ahh, intern. You have something from Inspector Hargrave?" He peered over his reading glasses at the both of us.  
  
"Fingerprinting analysis." Holmes held up an empty beer can in a properly labeled and sealed evidence bag. The doorkeeper admitted us gleefully.  
  
"Just perfect for trying out the new fingerprint lifter…" He said, and a great deal more that I didn't listen to.  
  
"Shorty's prints?" I asked. Holmes must have switched the can with his own when he threw it away last night.  
  
"Yes. If Shorty's arm was indeed injured in bar fight, his prints will be on file." He was a clever boy, my Holmes was. The doorkeeper, whose lab coat identified him as Dr. Hammond, puttered about with his glues and computer scanners for about ten minutes before the fingerprints came up with electronic *bloop!*  
  
"There are three sets of prints." Hammond typed something and the muddle mass of prints magically separated into three groups. "One is identified as Alexander Holmes." Hammond raised an eyebrow at Holmes.  
  
"I forgot to put on gloves. Sorry." Holmes tried to look sheepish and failed utterly. Hammond merely shook his head at this heresy.   
  
"Second set unidentified. Placing it in the database as Unknown #68752. Third set…" The computer blooped again and pulled up a file on Jonathan "Shorty" Murphy.  
  
"History of petty crimes," Holmes read the file aloud. "One arrest for car theft, released for lack of evidence. Arrested a week ago in the Kilt and Candle Pub for drunk and disorderly behavior. Released from the detention ward of St. Anne's hospital two days later. That's our guy."  
  
We shook hands with the doorkeeper and left him alone with his beloved equipment.   
  
"Well, at least we know that Shorty's "accident" isn't a trap of some kind." Holmes offered. We were sitting at a stop light.   
  
"One less thing to worry about. Man, I thought to myself that this summer would be a chance to relax, unwind, sleep in a bit. And what am I doing? Playing three shows a week with the Irregulars, going undercover with an international gang of car thieves and trying desperately to get some sleep in the space between."  
  
"Perhaps you should have gotten a summer job?"  
  
"Nah, that's too much hassle."   
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints? Make your voice heard.  
  
.•´¨`•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨`•. 


	10. Into the Burning Hot Pit of Lava

note to all reviewers - due to fanfic.net's recent server problems, some reviews are not showing up. so if you have asked me something and i have not responded, feel free to email me. or just review again. y'know whatever. ;)  
  
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Chapter Nine  
  
… Into the Burning Hot Pit of Lava  
  
Have you ever noticed that whenever you have two equally important engagements, they always fall on the same day forcing you to choose one or the other, or nearly kill yourself doing both at the same time?  
  
The Irregulars were playing at a local band fest in Richmond Park. We had managed to fight our way to the opening set this year, one of the most coveted of all sets, next to the headliner. The people who are coming for the concert are just arriving and the denizens of London are still wandering about. The mix of hard core fans and curious newbies equaled pay dirt in job offers.   
  
"I'm searching all around for you  
  
C'mon baby just give me a clue  
  
Elementary deduction  
  
Familiar dysfunction  
  
I'm sitting here alone again."  
  
That was our closing piece, "Sign of the Four." The title was even better when it was just four of us (Holmes, Lei, James and me) in the band. Poor Kevin was the latecomer, but we love him anyway.  
  
Backstage was just a roped off area a little ways away from the stage. Groupies and record agents hung about talking with band members. This was the most exciting part of the concert (for us anyway). The record labels were finally trying to get our attention for a change.  
  
Lei was just talking with the guy from The Music Cartel when Holmes' cell phone went off. That's right, that cell phone. Holmes walked about three steps away, talking urgently with the person on the other end. He came back looking worried.  
  
"We have to go." He muttered. We tried to leave quietly. Luck was not with us today.  
  
"Where are you two going?" Kevin asked. Lei turned and glared at us. Here she was negotiating a deal that just might enable us to get paid for goofing off on stage and we were abandoning her for a case.  
  
"Er…"  
  
"Ummmm…"  
  
"Watson's mom. She, uh, got in a car accident."   
  
"Yeah, she's fine; Holmes was just going to take me to pick her up at the hospital." Lei, knowing that my mother was currently in the States on business, glared crossly after us. The record agent, however, seized on our last names.  
  
"Watson and Holmes? Is that where you get the name 'The Irregulars'?"  
  
Taking advantage of Lei's distraction, we ran for it.  
  
"What's going on?" I asked.  
  
"Sharon told us to, and I quote, 'Get down here now, or else.' She didn't wait for acknowledgement." Holmes replied while running a red light. Covent Garden was about ten kilometers (seven miles) away from Richmond Park. Not a great distance physically, but it was on the other side of Greater London on a weekend. Traffic was hell.  
  
Holmes had prepared for this possibility by bringing his own car to the park. We had to ditch the valiant little Ford at the nearest Tube station and take the Underground. We arrived at the top of the Covent Garden stairs to see Sharon pacing the sidewalk anxiously, while Karen stared serenely off into space.  
  
Sharon took one look at us and barked, "It's about time!" We all followed her back down the stair and boarded a train back to Richmond.   
  
We didn't go all the way back to Richmond, which would have been extremely frustrating. Instead we got off at a station near the Thames. We stood in an isolated corner where the sound of our voices wouldn't carry and Sharon gave us our mission.  
  
"Can you get to the warehouse in Southampton by yourselves?" Nods. "Good. You'll be bringing two cars back to the warehouse tonight." Holmes and I exchanged startled glances. "I'll explain when I see you later tonight." Sharon looked like a teacher whose copy budget had just been cut in half. Sharon and Karen took another train to elsewhere in London.  
  
"I think it would be best if we each stole one then drove down to Southampton." Holmes said matter-of-factly. "I think there is a shopping centre…"  
  
"Holmes!"   
  
"What?"  
  
"Never mind." I sighed. I wasn't entirely sure myself. Something about all this was just a little too crazy.   
  
There was indeed a shopping center a few blocks away. A blue Geo parked in the corner caught my eye. We drove the Geo to a car park in the city. In college we called this part of town Bouncers Row because every other door led into a nightclub. It was mainly showy sports cars and SUVs. Holmes boosted a tricked out street racer.   
  
We were just leaving London when my cell rang. I was reluctant to answer it, because I was sure it was Lei calling to rip me a new one.  
  
"Hello?"   
  
"Watson, you do know where we are going?"  
  
"Yes Holmes. I was paying attention the other night."  
  
"Hmph."  
  
"Holmes?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Never mind." Dear gods, what possessed me to nearly tell him about my dream. Yeesh, wait till all this is over, woman.  
  
It seemed like it didn't take as long to drive down to Southampton this time, but maybe that's just because I knew where I was going. We were pulling into the warehouse when my phone rang a second time.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Where the hell did you go?" Lei demanded. Damn, why do I pay for caller ID if I never use it? "Are you working on a case?"  
  
"Sorry, I didn't catch that Lei. You're breaking up. Got to go!" Lei started to call me names as I hit the end button.  
  
"I fear she will be truly pissed at me when I get home. I hope she doesn't lock me out." I told 'Joshua'.  
  
"You are always welcome to crash at my place."   
  
"Is that an invitation or a proposition?" I teased, slipping back into a Southern drawl. This would have been my standard response to any male friend whom I was not romantically interested with. However, tonight, a whole new layer of meaning somehow plastered itself on to the sentence. Holmes flushed. I kept walking forward, who me? Insinuate something? Never, you must be thinking of someone else.  
  
We were one of the first groups back, so we headed to the upstairs hide out. Ink and a few others were waiting up there, obligatory beers glued to one hand. There was an undercurrent of tension in the air. Sharon had probably snapped at all of them as well.  
  
"Y'all know what this is about?" I asked Ink.  
  
"No. But I believe that it may have something to do with the fact that a certain ship put into port last night." He said all of this in the careful measured tones of a business school grad. I think that was the longest string of words I ever heard him say.  
  
Of course this merely raised more questions than answers, but the rest of the gang arrived in a flood of headlights. Sharon was the last up the stairs. With her came a man I'd never seen before. He wore a black suit and trench coat, just like Agent Smith. Everyone waited expectantly.  
  
"Our deadline had been moved up. We need to have our quota filled by Wednesday."Sharon stated flatly. A low rumble of murmuring crossed the room.  
  
"Cor blimey! We can't boost that many cars in four days!" One of the girls called out.   
  
"You will 'boost' that many cars in four days." Agent Smith stared at the girl until she looked at the floor sullenly. Smith scanned the rest of the room. "If the shipment is less than expected, the boss gets unhappy. And when the boss gets unhappy, you get unhappy."  
  
Sharon waited patiently for Agent Smith to finish, then continued as if she hadn't been interrupted. "We were ahead of schedule when Shorty got hurt. We'll only have to work one more night to fill the quota."   
  
The murmurs turned to speculation on which day would be the best to 'fill the quota.' The movies never show you how much management and business is required for organized crime. The general consensus seemed to be tomorrow night, since the bobbies wouldn't be expecting it.  
  
"Good idea," Sharon said, "but not tomorrow night. Tonight, at dawn." There was a great deal of grumbling at this which eventually subsided into surly agreement.   
  
"I will see you at the docks on Wednesday night, Sharon." Agent Smith shook hand and left.  
  
"That guy really pisses me off."  
  
"I know."  
  
"One of these days…" The Tigers began complaining vehemently, but resignedly about their fate. Someone turned on the TV, another handed around the alcohol. It looked to be a long night. God, I needed some sleep.  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints? Make your voice heard.  
  
.•´¨`•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨`•. 


	11. Morning Mayhem

Chapter Ten  
  
Morning Mayhem  
  
In my long and interesting association with Holmes, I have often found myself waking up in places other than my own bed.   
  
I'll pause for a moment so you can drag your mind out of the gutter.   
  
What I mean by this is that Holmes has an unreasoning fondness for stakeouts, and The Irregulars having been touring on the road recently. This makes for an annoying combination of nights spent in a hotel room or a car seat.   
  
A pedantic person might point out that since the sun had not risen, this was not a 'morning' expedition. Aren't those people annoying? I'll refrain from boring you with the gruesome details of hot-wiring a Civic in the East End. The motorway between London and Southampton was becoming tiresome.  
  
We were now in Scotland Yard's computer center. It was a strange looking computer center. Each terminal was housed within its own cubicle, complete with laser printer. I was keeping awake by staring intently at the blue-gray cubicle wall. Holmes was searching various databases for, well, data. There was a large cargo vessel currently sitting in Southampton Harbor which would be taking a large cargo of stolen cars to the Orient. Sharon had been very adamant that we be standing on Pier Seven at eleven o'clock in the evening four days hence.   
  
"Four ships arrived yesterday." Holmes said finally. Sure enough, four profiles blinked on the computer screen. "One is just in to refill the petrol tank. Two are scheduled for long term maintenance. The fourth…" Double click. The icon enlarged to fill the screen.  
  
"The Fujikawa Maru, Japanese registry, runs regular trips between Tokyo, Hong Kong, and Southampton and is scheduled to leave in exactly four days."  
  
"Sounds like ours."  
  
Holmes dashed off a note to Inspector Hargrave. The gist of it was the time, date and location that the cars would be transferred from the warehouse and the name of the ship. He also included the rather self-evident observation that this would be an excellent time to capture the Tigers red-handed.  
  
We went down to the mail room to clandestinely deliver the note. Three and three-fifths of a second after we dropped the note into her box, I noticed Hargrave standing three feet away. So much for the clandestine part.  
  
"Good morning Alexander." Danger, Danger, Alexander Holmes!  
  
"Good morning, Inspector." Holmes replied respectfully. Hargrave was immediately suspicious. She glanced over the note. She paused to glare at the both of us, then returned to contemplating the note. I could almost see the thoughts running through her head. This was likely to be highly dangerous, no place for an intern, much less some punk rock drummer. Then again, if she pulled us out now, the Tigers might get suspicious and call off the rendezvous with the Maru.  
  
"I do hope you realize what you've gotten yourselves into." She said finally. We both nodded firmly. "All right then. We have some planning to do."  
  
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Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints? Make your voice heard.  
  
.•´¨`•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨`•. 


	12. The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men

well, lookey here. an update! a mega-update a that. this thing might actually be finished before labor day.  
  
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Chapter Eleven  
  
The Best Laid Plans Of Mice And Men…  
  
I was determined not to be nervous. I was Katrina, accomplished car thief and femme fatale. Something as routine as the resale of "borrowed" goods was nothing to be worried about. Ah, who am I kidding, I was freaked outta my gourd.   
  
The Tigers had accumulated about thirty cars in their warehouse hideout. That was as many as could be safely stowed away on the cargo vessel. All of those had to be clandestinely transported to the dock where the Fujikawa Maru lay moored. Sharon had outlined the plan quite thoroughly, complete with play by play illustrations on a dry erase board.  
  
"I know we've all done this before," she began, "but it can't hurt to go over it, especially for the benefit of our new partners. We'll meet here tomorrow around dusk. We will take turns driving the vehicles into the cargo hold at ten minute intervals. It's only about half a mile away so you should be able to get back before the next car leaves.   
  
"Remember, no one knows that the car is stolen, so you don't need to act like the cops are after you. Drive slow, obey all traffic laws, and for the love of God put your lights on." The little ripple of uneasiness made me think that someone had left the lights off (like in the movies) and was very nearly caught.   
  
Twenty minutes after the meeting, an anonymous email had appeared in the Inspector Hargrave inbox, informing her of the Tigers' plan for the next night. The next day Holmes and I were bouncing around Lei's house waiting to go down to Southampton.   
  
I couldn't help but thinking about what the others were doing during the day. The cops were laying their ambush on the advice of an anonymous informant. The Tigers were either sleeping off hangovers or preparing to smuggle several hundred thousands dollars worth of steel out of the country. Holmes and I were plotting our moves for the night. Our goal was to make ourselves scarce before the British SWAT team moved in at precisely 9:13. Why they couldn't have made it a nice round number was beyond me. Lei was prowling around, trying to pry the secret of the Amazing Disappearing Band Members out of us.  
  
Eventually, though, we were able to sneak around her and once again made the mind-numbing drive to Southampton. Holmes was wearing camouflage pants and a leather jacket. I was wearing a crocheted tunic-style shirt I would never have dared wear in daylight. However nervous I felt on the outside must have not shown on the outside, thankfully. It would be terribly brilliant to have come all this way only to botch it up at the last moment.  
  
We parked Holmes' little Ford well outside the danger zone and walked in to the warehouse. The worst part was walking into the warehouse. I could almost feel the eyes of dozens of police officers watching me. It took a great deal of willpower not to look back.  
  
The entire crew was assembled in the warehouse, giving the cars a last minute inspection. Sharon hailed us as soon as we entered.   
  
"We're still waiting for it to get full dark." She said, rather distracted. I wondered what she was really worried about. It was about as dark as it was going to get, and the moon was almost full too. Not the best of nights to be smuggling cars, but there you have it.  
  
There was a slight commotion from near the door. Sharon damn near sprinted over. Holmes and I followed. Agent Smith had arrived. There was a great deal of masculine posing going on between Smith and Ink, but Sharon interrupted the impending fight.   
  
"Now then, what are you doing here?" Sharon demanded of Smith. He straightened his tie before answering.   
  
"The boss wishes his investment protected." Smith said derisively.   
  
"Fine. Just don't touch anything." Sharon told him sharply and stalked off. Not wanting to have to make conversation with the ever so charming Smith, I followed her. Sharon returned to what she had been doing (fixing a flat on a Civic) muttering. "Damn Smith."  
  
"What did you call him?" I said, shocked.  
  
"His name is Mr. Smith." Sharon swore softly, this time at the wheel. "Tighten you damn bolt. Why?"   
  
"That's what I've been calling him in my head. Y'know, Agent Smith from the Matrix." Sharon stared at me for a moment, then broke into laughter.   
  
"There we go." She finished with the tire. "Now, we are ready."   
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~  
  
The Tigers were assembled in the center of the warehouse, with Agent Smith standing off to one side. I was resisting the urge to glance at my watch every three seconds. Last time I dared check was 9:00 exactly, that seemed like ages ago. Sharon was pairing people off. Holmes and I were to follow Sharon and Agent Smith the first time around so we knew where the heck we were going.  
  
Sharon took a shiny Accord while Holmes and I followed in a Geo well past its prime. The drive to the pier was one of those odd moments where time seems to simultaneously stretch and compress.  
  
Smith and Sharon were standing on the edge of the dock. The Maru's cargo bay doors in the stern were open, but Sharon was frowning at the ship. I glanced at my watch. 9:14. I looked back toward the warehouse. Was that a flash of red light, or just my imagination? As I looked back to the ship, Holmes caught my eye and nodded. So he had seen it too.  
  
"What's wrong?" Smith demanded impatiently.  
  
"The crew. They haven't given the countersignal." Sharon snapped back. The crew of the Maru was most like locked away in a paddy wagon somewhere.   
  
Holmes gently touched my wrist. I damn near jumped out of my skin. He was trying to tell me that now would be a good time to make our exit. I concurred. We stepped back slowly, hoping that no one would notice.  
  
"What the hell is going on?" Sharon muttered. Floodlights on the ship snapped on, illuminating a perfect circle of light, with Sharon and Smith in the center. Holmes and I were just outside the edge of the pool of light, effectively hidden by the glare.  
  
"This is the police. You are under arrest." Sharon froze like the proverbial deer in the headlights. Smith was not going down so easy. He bolted before the bobbies could converge on him, escaping into the maze of shipping crates and heavy machinery. The sensible thing to do would have been to make ourselves scarce and let the real police handle it. So naturally we took off after him. Well, to be more accurate, Holmes took off after him. Katrina couldn't wear anything less than a two inch heel, and Watson was not keen on breaking an ankle.  
  
I discovered that it is difficult, though not impossible, to run in heels. Smith headed away from both the docks and the warehouse. I decided (as I dodged a fork lift) that he had a car parked out there in case of emergency. This observation was quickly replaced by the observation that the ground was rushing at my head. The right heel had been neatly snapped by an empty forklift pallet. I shucked off both shoes and gingerly dashed after Holmes, clutching the useless sandals in one hand.  
  
I caught up with both him and Agent Smith, at Agent's black Buick, parked on dark, anonymous, Southampton street. At first I couldn't figure out why Holmes was stopped. Then I saw the orange streetlight glinting off the metal gun barrel. Shit.  
  
"I'd stay back if I were you," Smith warned, "not unless you want that shiny medal to be posthumous." Holmes didn't reply. I took me moment to figure out what the hell he was talking about. In the poor light, Smith had mistaken Holmes for a cop  
  
"You've committed a crime." Holmes replied, doing his imitation of a serious young man. "You must pay your dues to society." Smith replied in typical Bond villain style, and the banter continued for quite some time.   
  
All this bought me time to sneak around a pile of crates so I had Smith flanked on the right. From this vantage point, my American eyes, accustomed to cop movies, noticed that Smith had not cocked the gun. Unfortunately, Smith also noticed this at the same time.  
  
"Farewell, my good man. Guess you won't see your retirement after all." Smith mocked. I didn't think, I just acted. I really gotta stop doing that.  
  
I threw my high heels at the gun, then threw myself at Smith with what Holmes would later describe as an Amazonian battle cry. This tactic was extremely effective, though. The shot went wild, ricocheting off three metal shipping containers before losing momentum. Holmes lost no time in joining the fray.  
  
What happened next is something of a tangle of memory and sensation. I vaguely remember someone's elbow connecting with my temple. I was staring up at the orange streetlight trying to suss out what had just happened. Holmes and Smith were struggling for control of the gun in front of me.  
  
I dove for Smith knees as a second shot rang out. All three of us hit the ground hard. Smith twisted around and brought the business end of the gun down on my head. I reeled back for a second, then regained my grip on his arm which I promptly twisted around behind his back. Smith wasn't ready to give up, but since his gun hand was twisted behind his back and there was 60 kilos of Watson sitting on his spine, there wasn't a whole hell of a lot he could do about it.   
  
I didn't have much time to glory in my victory though. The SWAT team had been alerted by the gunfire and came running in a second later, weapons drawn. Thankfully, the good Inspector was with them.  
  
"Holmes! What the hell!" Hargrave did an excellent impression of a pissed off woman. One of the SWAT guys hauled me off Smith and applied handcuffs to him. Holmes had been behind me when I pinned down Smith, and this was the first I could spare a glance for him.   
  
"Shit, Holmes!" Those camouflage pants looked like they had been through a war when he bought them, now they were soaked through with blood.  
  
"Calm down Watson."   
  
"Calm down? Calm down, he tells me to calm down. Holmes you have a hole in your goddamn leg!" Why am I forever patching up bullet holes in bandmates?   
  
Vehicles with sirens attached to them seemed to sprout from the ground, and pretty soon the entire pier was a mass of patrol cars and yellow tape. Hargrave dragged a medic over from the warehouse. From the way he was muttering to himself it seemed that our friends there had also put up a fight. Fortunately, none of them were armed with anything more dangerous than a tire iron.   
  
It was a very long ambulance ride back to London. I was itching to talk about the case, but the presence of the two medics made that an unwise idea. A guy with an earring and a nametag that said "Steve" examined us both. Holmes' bullet holes wasn't too serious. A simple through and through; it even missed all major blood vessels. I had a concussion and lovely black bruise cross the forehead and what would be a spectacular headache in the morning.  
  
Not bad for a night's work.  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints? Make your voice heard.  
  
.•´¨`•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨`•. 


	13. Dénouement, Again

Chapter Twelve  
  
Dénouement, Again  
  
It was another day before either of us were up to dealing with the real world. We were asleep for most of it. Well, I was asleep, Holmes was drugged out from the surgery on his leg. Same diff.  
  
When the nurses lifted visiting restriction on Holmes, the rest of the Irregulars descended on the doorstep, bearing those staples of the teenage diet, fast food and caffeine. Rumors to the contrary, The food in St. Anne's Hospital really wasn't bad, (it had to be good if sick people were expected to eat it) but it wasn't French fries.   
  
Inspector Hargrave wasn't far behind The Irregulars. Cliff Notes Version : We kicked ass. Every single member of the Tigers had been apprehended either at the warehouse or at the ship, except for the mysterious duo of Katrina and Joshua, who seemed to have vanished into the night. And with the exception of Agent Smith, they promptly spilled all that they knew in exchange for plea bargains.  
  
"Mr. Smith is insisting he was betrayed by a pair who bear a remarkable similarity to you two. I convinced them that you were listening on the police scanner and came along with the squad cars." Hargrave smiled. "Your names won't be going on the case files, but congratulations, you've just solved your first case."   
  
The band smothered their snickers. Hargrave didn't notice, as she had already left. I slipped out after the inspector while Kevin and James were joshing Holmes about his 'first case.'   
  
"Thanks. For not throwing the book at us, I mean." Hargrave shrugged it off.   
  
"Hey, you get away with it, and I get the credit." She glanced at the hospital room door. "I want you to watch out for him. He needs you, even if he won't admit it." I stared after her in shock after this confirmation of everything that I had hoped for. The roar of laughter reminded me of where I was. I headed back into the room.   
  
"Ahem." I glared at Kevin, who quickly vacated my seat.   
  
"Learn anything interesting?" Holmes asked me under the cover of another burst of laughter.   
  
"Yeah, I think I did."  
  
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~   
  
Questions, comments, critisicms, complaints? Make your voice heard.  
  
.•´¨`•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨`•. 


End file.
